


Being Human

by all_not_well



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_not_well/pseuds/all_not_well
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rick's group is ambushed by the Claimers, an old friend steps in on his behalf - one he'd never really thought to see again among the living, and half-feared to one day find among the endless rotting faces of the walking dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU: Merle and Daryl left the quarry before Rick arrived. Shane is still alive, but was banished from the group after he killed Randall at the farm.
> 
> Daryl will turn up eventually.

"Ten, Mississippi!"

Rick could barely hear the man speaking over the rush of blood in his ears. He scanned the group that had got the jump on them, at least as much as he could without moving his head, looking for even the slimmest chance that he and Michonne and Carl might somehow get through this alive - but there were too many guns pointed in their direction, too many men involved to even think about overpowering them before the bullets hit. Rage simmered in Rick's belly, burning hot and impotent. There wasn't a damn thing he could do to save what was left of his family.

"Nine, Mississippi!"

He could see Carl's face through the cracked windshield of the car where he'd been sleeping only moments before. The kid was pale and frightened, his eyes wide with the same desperation Rick was feeling. One of the men peered through the passenger side window, making no attempt to hide his greedy, lascivious expression as he stared at Rick's son. Rick wanted to tear the man limb from limb, gut him like a pig, cut off his dick and ram it down his fucking throat for even daring to glance in Carl's direction. But the cold kiss of metal at his temple held him frozen in place, helpless to stop the inevitable.

"Eight, Mississippi--"

"Joe!"

A lone figure strode out of the shadows and into the pale circle of moonlight that lit the clearing, footsteps steady and confident as he moved to the forefront of the group, hands rising in a peaceable gesture. Rick's eyes widened as his gaze landed on a familiar face - one he'd never really thought to see again among the living, and half-feared to one day find among the endless rotting faces of the walking dead. 

"Now hold up there, Joe. Let's talk this one out, huh? You and me, like gentlemen."

Shane's gaze held steady on the man at Rick's shoulder, never once dropping to look Rick in the eye. But there was an easing of the tightness in Rick's chest, of the tension in his shoulders, at the sight of the man he'd once called brother. He was thinner than Rick remembered him, his hair too long, his jaw softened by a coarse beard, his nose more prominent, with new grooves in his forehead and around his mouth - but he was still so much the same old Shane, ready to launch into another round of pure bullshit, that it almost hurt to look at him.

"You're stopping me on eight, Shane." Joe's voice was sharp, impatient - a warning. The muzzle of his gun shifted minutely against Rick's temple, the pressure firm and unrelenting.

"C'mon, now, just hang on a second and let's talk about this."

"This is the guy that killed Lou." It wasn't Joe that spoke out, but one of the other men in the group, his eyes narrowed and jaw tense, his shotgun steady in his hands. "So we got nothin' to talk about."

And just like that, the pressure at Rick's temple eased - not completely, but just enough to let Rick know that Joe didn't much care to have anyone else making the decisions.

"The thing about nowadays," Joe drawled, "is we got nothin' but time. Say your piece, Shane."

Shane's lips curved into that shit-eating grin Rick remembered so well. "The thing is, y'all - I know this man." He waved a hand expansively in Rick's direction. "Grew up with him. We hung out together. Played football together. Little League. The whole bit. Just a couple o' good ol' Southern boys. Best friends. Brothers, even." His gaze flicked to Rick's face, briefly, a shadow passing over his expression before that carefree, easy-going mask slid back into place. He looked back up to Joe. "And I'm tellin' ya, man - he's good people. One of the best."

"Now, I think Lou would disagree with you on that. I'll, of course, have to speak for him and all, 'cause your friend here strangled him in a bathroom."

"Yeah, I can see how that might be a problem." Shane shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out, palm up. "He took one of yours, left him to turn. You need to make that right. But he's got folks to look out for too, man. He's got--" 

Shane's voice faltered for the first time, hardly noticeable to anyone who didn't know him well - but Rick knew him, better than maybe anyone else ever had. He heard the break in Shane's patter just as clear as a gunshot.

"He's got family. And I'm sure whatever choices he's made, he's done it with their well-being in mind."

Rick's vision blurred, and he had to blink several times to clear it. It was so far from the last thing Shane had said to him - _I'm a better father than you, I'm a better man than you_ \- that if it hadn't been for the cold, hard press of the gun against his head he might have thought he was in the middle of a dream, or a hallucination. He could hear the apology in Shane's voice. The love. If he died right here, it would almost be worth it, just to know he had his brother back.

"I know you want blood, man. I would too, in your place. But these other folks? They ain't done nothin' to you. And they need him. So why don't you let them all go, huh? You want blood - you can take it from me. Put me in his place. And then everything's _square_ again. All right?"

A moment of silence followed Shane's words. His easy, shit-eating grin never once faltered throughout. And for that brief moment, while everything hung in the balance, Rick almost let himself hope that Shane's bluff might work - and he feared the same, just as equally. That would be just like Shane, to turn up at the very last minute, bringing everything full circle in the most foolish, self-sacrificing way possible. This was more than just an apology - this was Shane's shot at absolution. And like a dog with a bone, he wasn't going to let go until he got what he wanted. Even if it killed him.

If they got through this - and they would, because there was no other option except to survive, at any cost - Rick was gonna fucking throttle Shane with his own bare hands for trying to throw himself under the bus like that.

Rick tried to meet Shane's eyes - tried to wordlessly communicate just what he thought of the whole idea - but Shane wouldn't even look at him now. That dark-eyed stare stayed fixed unerringly on the man standing just over Rick's shoulder. Waiting.

Then the moment ended, and all hell broke loose.

 

"Clean yourself up, man." Shane crouched down at Rick's side to hold out a full water bottle and a mostly-clean bandana, gesturing toward Rick's matted beard with his free hand.

"Should save it to drink." The response was automatic; water was more precious than gold nowadays.

"Ain't for your sake, brother." Shane gave Rick a grave look as he poured some water onto the rag, his expression more solemn than Rick could ever remember seeing him. "You gotta be human again when next you look your kid in the eye." He pressed the rag into Rick's hand, then set the bottle down on the ground beside him before turning away.

Rick scrubbed at his sticky face; the cloth came away red.

Shane moved from body to body, driving his knife into each temple with the ease of long practice. Michonne had already bundled Carl back into the car and was curled up with him on the back seat, her murmurs soft and indistinct. Rick wanted to join them; now that the adrenaline was wearing off, weariness pulled inexorably at his limbs. He kept his drooping eyes fixed on Shane, watched him search pockets and gather up weapons while keeping one eye out for any walkers that might have been drawn in by the gunshots. Rick couldn't figure out how Shane was even on his feet after the beating he'd taken, much less handling cleanup. All Rick wanted to do was just lie down and stay there a while, and fuck all the rest of this shitty world.

Instead he set the filthy rag aside, drank the last swallow of water in the bottle to moisten his too-dry throat, and struggled to rise.

"I got it. You get some sleep. You look done in."

"It'll be done faster if I help. Then we can both turn in."

Shane shook his head, his gaze focused on the task at hand. "I can't stay, brother."

Rick stared at him. "Fuck, Shane." He stepped forward, clutching at the sleeve of Shane's jacket. "Are you fucking kidding me? I just found you again and you're _leaving_ me? Just like that?"

"It ain't 'just like that'." 

Shane shrugged out of Rick's hold and moved away, putting some distance between them. He stared at the ground, his jaw clenched tight; then something seemed to break loose in him, because he sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, fingers snagging in his tangled curls. His whole face was drawn and pale in the early morning light, his dark eyes haunted.

"I got some shit to take care of, man. And it's the kind of thing you don't want Carl around for. Trust me on that."

"So go take care of it. We'll wait for you."

Shane finally met his eyes. "I got some _one_ to take care of." His gaze was stark, pleading. "It's a delicate situation, brother. I don't know how long I'll be, or - or anything."

"This ain't the whole group? Is there someone else gonna be lookin' for revenge? 'Cause me and Michonne--"

"It ain't like that." Shane rubbed his hands together, shifting from foot to foot, his whole demeanor awkward and uncomfortable. "Look, Rick - Carl ain't the first kid they come across."

Those words sucked the air right out of Rick's lungs. He took a staggering step towards Shane, gasping for breath. Shane had been with them - had been one of them. Shane had--

"Tell me you didn't," Rick choked out. "Tell me you wouldn't--"

"Naw, man." Shane took a step forward, his hand lifting as though he meant to place it on Rick's shoulder - though he dropped it again without quite touching, scrubbing his palm against his own denim-clad thigh instead. "Rick. That ain't me, man. I done some shitty things in my time, but you _know_ that ain't me."

"No." Rick's throat opened up again, and suddenly his breath came easier. "No, that ain't you." He shook his head, trying to clear it. "You wouldn't. Not to - not to somebody's kid..."

Shane's head came up, and his chin jutted out. "Not to _anyone_ ," he corrected Rick, his voice firm. "But these fucking pricks, though--" Shane gestured to the corpses at their feet. "They already had 'im when they found me, but I didn't even know it for the first few days. They kept him locked up, hidden away. They were testing me, I guess. And I must've passed, because one night we were all sitting 'round the fire, and Joe got up and unlocked his van, and he brought out--" He broke off, coughing a little as though the words choked him. "I can't even describe it, brother. I ain't never seen anything so sorry in all my life as that poor kid. What they did to 'im..." He scrubbed a hand over his face and took a deep, shuddering breath. "What they did - they weren't even _human_ anymore."

"Fuck, Shane." It all made perfect sense now - why Shane was so willing to sacrifice himself to save Rick and the others. "If they'd got hold of Carl--"

"I couldn't let 'em do that to Carl, brother." He said it sotto voce, his eyes flicking briefly to the car a few yards away. "Not to your boy. No matter what it took."

"Thank you." Rick stumbled closer on shaky legs and wrapped his arms tight around Shane. "Thank you. Fuck, Shane. More than anything. Thank you. For Carl. For me. For Michonne. Thank you."

"Rick." Shane's arms were tentative at first, as they came around Rick's torso, but a minute later he was shuddering, all but sobbing as he buried his face in the crook of Rick's neck. "I'm so sorry, Rick. For everything. I'm so sorry."

"It's all good now, brother." Rick smoothed his hands over Shane's shoulders, soothing him just as he would if it were Carl. "We're all good."

"I'm an absolute shit, man. Complete and utter shit. I did everything wrong--"

"It's all forgotten. You're my brother, Shane. Forgive and forget - ain't that how it goes with brothers? Don't even think on it."

"Missed you," Shane choked out. His hold on Rick tightened, almost hard enough to crack a rib, before he suddenly relaxed again, sagging in Rick's arms. "Missed you so much, brother. Don't ever let me do anything so stupid ever again."

"Same goes for me. Missed you. Like my right arm." He patted Shane's back. "But you're here now. And I ain't letting you get away again, y'hear?"

Shane shuffled a step back, putting a few inches of space between them. "I gotta take care of this, Rick. I wanted to leave these fuckers after I saw what they could do, but I told myself I couldn't until I figured out how to get the kid away too - and they kept him locked up tighter 'n Fort Knox."

"Is there a guard on him now?"

"Just one, but I can take care of him easy."

"Easier with two of us."

"I don't want Carl to see--"

"We'll leave Carl here with Michonne - she'll keep him safe. And we'll go collect this kid. You and me, like old times."

Shane shook his head, stubborn as ever. "He's in real bad shape, Rick. I can't let Carl--"

"Carl's not the same kid you remember." Rick laid a hand on Shane's shoulder and squeezed, feeling the stark prominence of his bones through the fabric of his jacket. "He's been through hell already and survived, just like we all have. No matter how bad you think this is - he's strong enough to deal with it. He'll have to. I'm not letting you go alone. Not now."

Shane scrubbed both hands over his face, wiping away a few stray tears.

"You'll feel differently when you see him, man. You have no idea."


	2. Chapter 2

He could feel Rick's eyes on him, just as wide and blue and earnest as he remembered. There was a time when he'd thought those eyes could see right through to his very soul - when that penetrating stare would have opened his heart up just as slick and easy as a willing woman, pushed him to reveal all his secrets without a single word of protest, if only Rick had bothered to ask.

Then had come the time when he'd realized that Rick was just as blind to him as everyone else, and damned if that hadn't pissed him off but good. And the hell of it was, he hadn't known who to be more furious with: Rick, for being so blind and so fallible; or himself, for being such a gutless coward that he couldn't even say what it was he wanted Rick to see in him, couldn't hardly even admit it to himself. So instead of speaking up, he'd learned to dissemble - to hide his truth in bullshit and cockamamie stories, to play the part of the feckless girl-crazy fool, guaranteeing he'd never be taken seriously no matter what crap spilled out of his mouth.

He'd got over the hurt after a while, got inured to seeing Rick with Lori, watching them play at being the happy family with Carl while Shane sat idly by on the sidelines. But seeing Rick helpless in that hospital bed when the world went to shit all around them, completely unavailable just when Shane needed him the most - somehow, that brought all that hurt and anger back to the surface. And then he'd thought Rick was dead, and there was all his rage lit up with nowhere to go but deep inside.

It had festered in him for too long. He'd been stupid with it, crazy even, and it had cost him just about everything he cared about. It had made him an exile from the only home he'd ever known (at Rick's right hand, where he belonged) and turned him into a monster for far too long.

Life was too damn short to turn his back on second chances.

But there was a sea of time and walkers between him and Rick now - experiences they hadn't shared, growing that they didn't do together, and too many things they didn't even know about the other anymore. How the hell do you tell a man you haven't seen in what feels like forever that there was only him, and there had only ever been him, and everyone else was just a cheap substitute? It wasn't as though Shane could just blurt it out at this point. But he was so damn tired of keeping it close, like a shameful secret.

"If you start thinkin' any harder over there, you're liable to set your hair on fire."

Shane tripped over a non-existent tree root, stumbling a little before he caught himself against the trunk of an old white pine, the bark scraping rough against his palms. He slanted a glance at Rick and found him grinning, lines fanning out at the corners of his eyes, his teeth impossibly white in his blood-stained beard. Wherever he'd been for the past year-and-whatever, there'd at least been some effort at maintaining personal hygiene. Shane swept his tongue over his own teeth and grimaced at the sticky, fuzzy feel of them. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen a toothbrush.

Rick paused, his grin fading a little, replaced with faint concern. Sunlight dappled over his face, and Shane had a brief flash of memory - walking together through a similar woods, caught up in another rescue mission, that one doomed to failure before it even began.

"I was just thinking about Sophia."

Rick blinked several times in rapid succession, his mouth gone slack for a brief moment while his brain caught up to the conversation. 

"Fuck. That feels like a lifetime ago."

"Yeah." The word fell heavy from Shane's mouth. He licked his lips. "A lot of water under the bridge since then."

He pushed away from the tree trunk and set out once more, glancing up to the sun to gauge the time of day. They had maybe fifteen, twenty minutes more of slogging through the trees before they'd get to the van - but with the day heating up, they needed to get a move on, or the kid was going to roast alive inside that vehicle.

Rick cleared his throat. And Christ, there was the damn can of worms now.

"You wanted to give up on her, as I recall. Considered her little more than a liability at best." There was a hint of a rebuke in Rick's tone, despite what he'd said about 'forgive and forget'. Hell, Rick probably didn't even know he was doing it; that self-righteous shit just came so automatic to him.

Still grated on Shane's nerves as much as ever, though.

"I did." He had to force the words out through his clenched jaw.

"You said lookin' for her was like tryin' to save cats from trees."

"I know." 

"You were so sure we were putting the rest of the group in danger for no damn reason--"

"I remember!" Shane spun on his heel, throwing his hand up against Rick's chest to stop Rick from crashing into him as they came to a sudden halt. "Why are you harpin' on this, brother? I know how it went down. But that was a long time ago."

"You were right." Rick's eyes gleamed wet and sorrowful, his voice gone soft, that hint of sharpness suddenly missing from his tone. "You were right about Sophia."

"And I was _wrong_ , too. I know that now."

"You were at that." Rick sucked in a shuddering breath and took a step back, putting a little distance between them as he averted his eyes. "One of these days you'll have to tell me what changed you."

Shane thought of small hands slipping free of his sweaty grasp, and heard the echo of his name in a choked-out scream. _I had her in my hand. She looked in my eyes and trusted me._

"Maybe not," Shane muttered.

Rick glanced at him, assessing, those brilliant blue eyes missing not one damn thing for once. He gave a slow nod, an acknowledgement of shared shame and grief.

"Fair enough."

He gestured with one hand, urging Shane to lead on. Shane sighed as he turned away. For a moment the only sounds were the twitter of birds and the tromp of their boots through last year's leaves.

"Carl still doesn't quite get it." Rick's voice was so hushed that Shane had to strain to hear him over their footsteps. "Doesn't always see the difference between what's right and what's easy."

"Hate to break it to you, Rick, but some things just can't be taught." Shane cast a glance over his shoulder and met Rick's eyes for one brief moment. "No matter how good a father you are. He's gonna have to figure out for himself where to draw the line on that one."

"Watching him figure it out is the hardest part. 'Specially when I'm not sure I'm setting the best example by him, y'know?"

"He's a good kid at heart. He'll get it right in the end. Just…whatever you do, you gotta stick by him. Let him know he's worth it."

Rick laid his palm between Shane's shoulder blades, a warm, solid pressure as they walked on.

"I've learned some things the hard way too," he said.

His touch lingered forever, and fell away too soon.

 

Len was easy enough to deal with, the lazy, good-for-nothing asshole. They found him dozing in the front seat of the van, one hand curled around a half-bottle of Jack he'd claimed from a house two nights before, the van's windows wide open to let the breeze through. Shane shot him in the head before he'd had the chance to fully wake, splattering brains all over the passenger seat. The muffled _crack_ of Shane's silenced Beretta was Rick's cue to emerge from the cover of the trees nearby but fortunately didn't appear to have drawn any unwanted attention.

Shane leaned in and snagged the keys out of the ignition, then moved around to meet Rick by the double doors at the back of the utility van. His hands shook as he shoved the key into the lock; he fumbled and nearly dropped it on the first attempt. Rick was kind enough not to mention it.

Shane glanced up at Rick, who gave him an encouraging nod as their eyes met. Shane nodded back at him, took a deep breath, and swung the doors wide.

It wasn't the first peek Shane had gotten of the inside of the van, and it definitely wasn't the worst shape he'd seen the boy in. He had to swallow a mouthful of bile, but he felt almost inured to it by now. Rick, on the other hand…

"Jesus fuck," Rick breathed out - then he turned, stumbled a few steps away from the van, and ralphed long and loud enough to make Shane's stomach twinge in sympathy.

The kid, of course, took no notice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I've sat on it for much too long already, so.
> 
> Beaucoup trigger warnings here.

That could have been Carl.

That could have been _Rick's son_ in there, chained up like a damned dog, a heavy black leather hood obliterating all traces of his identity, rendering him into something less than human. That could have been his boy's body turned into a road map of scars and bruises, of sores and open wounds layered in filth and crusted with dried blood and - and other things.

That was somebody's child in there. That could have been _his_ child. 

Rick braced his hands on his knees and stared down at the puddle of vomit at his feet, the splatter of yellow bile on his boots, the long trail of saliva sinking from his bottom lip down to the ground. He thought about how easy those fuckers had died at his hands. Michonne's hands. Shane's hands.

He wanted nothing more than to line them up and kill them all over again. Wanted to end them in the most brutal, inefficient way possible. He wanted to feed them to an entire herd of walkers, one tiny fucking piece at a time. He wanted to hear them scream and beg for mercy, the way this kid had probably done the first time they fucked him, and every time since.

If he had known the kind of monsters they had been, he would have done things differently. He would have shown them just what kind of monster _he_ could be.

"Rick. Brother. Come on back to me, man. I need you."

Shane's voice was distorted, as though he was speaking underwater. Out of the corner of his eye Rick saw Shane crouch down beside him, just a blurred impression of blood-stained denim and scuffed work boots, of wild hair and dark, soulful eyes.

Shane didn't lay a hand on him. For that Rick was grateful. He felt as though his bones had gone brittle, like glass. If Shane touched him he might just shatter. And who would keep Carl safe then? Who would protect him from this world full of monsters? Not just the dead ones, but the living - which were infinitely worse, because they chose to be.

"C'mon, Rick. Please. Deep breaths, buddy. I need you back with me."

Rick took a shuddering breath. Spat a mouthful of saliva and stomach acid. Took another breath and released it. Then another.

"That's it. In and out. You can do this."

"Jesus fuck, Shane." Rick's voice rasped in his throat, scraping at his tender flesh. "Those fucking pricks."

"Yeah."

"They died too easy."

"Don't I know it." Shane sighed and scratched at his scruffy beard, shifting his weight as he gave their surroundings a quick scan for any danger. "I feel the same way, man. I do. But you gotta get it together right now, Rick. Because revenge is not our priority here. Ya feel me? We got other things to worry about."

Rick jerked his head up, his eyes going wide. "Oh, fuck." He straightened, staggering on weak knees, bracing one hand on the door of the van for support. "We gotta get him out of there, Shane." 

The kid was still _in there_ \- still stuck in a living nightmare, while Rick was so busy having a mental breakdown that he did fuck all about it, just _left_ him there to suffer. 

"I'm sorry." He turned towards the boy, stumbling a little. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Strong arms wrapped themselves around Rick's torso, trapping his limbs, holding him in place.

"Easy, brother."

Rick grunted and shoved at the arms that held him, trying to break free of the vise-like grip. "Lemme go, Shane. We gotta get him out."

"We will. But he needs us calm right now, Rick. He can't see us. He can't hear us. He don't know nothin' 'bout what's been goin' on out here. He don't know who we are, and he don't know that those fuckers who hurt him are dead. And he won't know that we're not gonna treat him like they did - or worse."

Rick flinched, his thoughts shying away from the idea of anything _worse_ than what the kid had already been through.

"He don't know that we're safe, that he can trust us. And we need to work on establishing that, all right? We gotta be calm and careful, take it slow and easy with him. Can you do that?"

"Jesus, Shane." Rick thought of Carl once more, pictured his own boy in the back of that van, and swallowed sour bile. "I don't - I don't know if I can."

"Just - take a deep breath and try, Rick." Shane's breath was hot in Rick's ear as he spoke. "For me."

Rick nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating on the warm solid weight of Shane at his back. He would do this for Shane, he thought. And for Carl. And especially for this kid who so desperately needed him to be strong right now.

He breathed in deep through his mouth, careful not to take in the fetid smells that hung heavy in the humid air. He held the breath for a few seconds, counting them out in his head, then let the air out of his lungs again on a heavy sigh. He lifted his head, opened his eyes wide, and forced himself to take another hard look at the kid curled up on hands and knees in the back of the utility van.

The boy was trembling - deep, full-bodied shudders, like a horse trying to dislodge a fly. His knees were spread wide, with metal cuffs at each ankle welded onto a long piece of rebar, holding him open and ready to be used. Rick could see his asshole, puffy red and winking at him, leaking sticky trails of pinkish-white spunk down the kid's inner thighs. He was so thin, Jesus - nothing but skin and bone, scars and scabs, his hipbones prominent, every knob of his spine standing out in stark detail. With the hood covering his face it was hard to tell exactly how old he might be - his shoulders were broad enough to be late teens maybe, older than Carl, but not by much. His cock was bound up in some kind of metal cage, his mouth forced open by another wicked-looking metal contraption held in place with rubber straps. Drool slipped copiously from his wide-stretched lips to soak at the edges of the leather that covered the rest of his face, and his breaths were harsh, heavy pants through his open mouth. His cuffed hands were encased in leather mitts that made it impossible for him to grasp or grip anything, much less try to fight back or escape his bonds. A thick leather collar stretched tight around his throat, holding the hood in place, and a sturdy chain led from a D-ring at the front of the collar to a recessed metal loop in the floor that had once held a bench seat in place. Padlocks fastened everything tight, from the chains at his throat, to the collar, to the cuffs.

"You gonna do this with me, brother?" Shane's voice was soft, free of blame or accusation.

"We'll need bolt cutters," Rick whispered.

"I think there's a pair in the tool box behind the passenger seat."

Rick nodded and swallowed hard. This time when he made to break free of Shane's hold, Shane let him go without a fight.

He could do this. He _would_ do this.

He had to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this one hurt to write, so...

He was in the woods, tracking a deer. The woods were quiet, peaceful, not even a scrap of birdsong or a chittering squirrel to disturb his concentration. Overhead he could faintly hear the rush of wind through the leaves of the trees, though the air was close below where he walked. Humidity was a bitch as always, making him sweat. He ignored the trickle of moisture runnin' down his chin. He had to get that deer. It looked to be a good 'un, too - ought to feed him and Merle for a week or more.

The wind eddied around him, a gust of cooler air bringing some relief from the heat. The van shook beneath his knees--

No.

He was in the woods, tracking a deer. Had it in his sights. Six-pointer, a real brute. Enough meat on its bones to feed him an' Merle for a good while, maybe even set some in the freezer for winter or make some jerky. He lifted his crossbow as slow and quiet as he could, then took careful aim, lookin' to put a bolt right in its chest. He had to make this shot. With that buck they could stretch Merle's last paycheck 'til the next job came along. Hell, if he could keep Merle outta the booze, maybe they wouldn't even have to steal to survive this time. Damn, he hated it when Merle stole. Never knew when he was gonna pick the wrong target--

No. _No._

He was in the woods, tracking a deer. The wind rushed through the trees, a faint breeze eddying around his bare shoulders. A line of sweat crawled into one of the belt marks on his lower back, stinging something fierce. Drool slipped down his chin, a slow ticklish crawl that drove him mad with the need to wipe it away, to scrub himself clean--

_No._

He was in the woods--

Rough, callused fingers curled 'round his bicep. He screamed, the hollow echo of sound reverberating inside his skull as he jerked away from the touch. The collar pulled and tightened around his neck, choking him.

The hand slipped off his sweaty skin. He crouched, his wet, wheezing breaths sounding harsh and hollow in his ears, while he waited for the pain. The clawing fingers. The _bite_.

It didn't come.

Shit. _Shit._ Joe and his fucking mind games. Making him wait, alone in the dark and the silence, never knowing what would come next. Never knowing whether they were gonna use him again, or whether they'd grown bored enough with him to turn him over to the biters--

_No._ No. He was in the woods. They couldn't reach him there. Couldn't touch him. Just him and his crossbow and his deer.

The touch came again, the press of fingers stroking softly against his skin.

He bit down on the gag, the metal jarring against his teeth. He swallowed his muffled yell down deep. Hollerin' only made 'em laugh, drove 'em on to crueler games. No, they couldn't reach him. They could beat him, fuck him, do whatever the fuck they wanted, but they couldn't touch _him_. He was _in the woods._ He was _safe_ \--

The fingers moved to trace his wet lips, a thumb jamming into his jaw. He tried to jerk his head away, but the chain was too short to give him any room to evade the touch. There was no way out, no escaping whatever they wanted to do to him. So he went lax. Let them have his body. He was in the woods, in the cool dappled shade, following the tracks of his deer.

The ring gag popped free of his mouth, and the hands went away.

He worked his jaw for a second, ready to snap if the hands came back. He'd already bit one asshole's dick near in half, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat. Didn't matter how much they beat him for it after. If they killed him, at least he'd be free…and if they didn't, well, there wasn't much they could do that they hadn't already done.

The hands came back, this time on his shoulders. They were different from what he was used to, though - what he'd come to expect. They were cautious. Careful. Gentle, even. Then there was a sharp jerk on the collar, then a tug - then it came loose, and was gone, and he could breathe deep for the first time in ages.

He snarled, scooting away from those hands, snapping his teeth like a rabid dog.

_Little bitch._ Joe's voice was low in his ear, almost affectionate even. _We done claimed you, so you better be a good bitch for your masters, boy. You shut up and take it if you want to live._

No, not in his ear. In his fucking _head,_ 'cause he couldn't hear shit with that hood they'd put on him. Couldn't hear nothin' comin' at him. Not Joe and his boys. Not walkers. How could he fight what he couldn't see, couldn't hear?

He couldn't fight it. So he gritted his teeth and sought out his woods. Cool, quiet stillness. Nothin' but him and the deer.

A hand closed around his ankle. He jerked, trying to pull free from the hold. The fingers tightened, not quite hard enough to bruise, but definitely hard enough to insist. Pulling him back towards those hands.

"Lemme go!" His voice was a dull roar in his blocked ears, playing counterpoint to his harsh breaths and rapid, thudding heartbeat. The rush of his blood in the background grew thunderously loud. "Lemme go, you sick fucks! I'll fucking kill you if you touch me again! Lemme go!"

The fingers slackened and fell away.

Daryl crept, as fast as he could on bound hands and hobbled knees, until he hit the wall of the van and couldn't creep anymore. He huddled there, small as he could make himself, and went back to his woods.

The wind rushed through the trees overhead. He crept through dappled shade beneath the green canopy. No noise, no laughter, no voices. No pain. Nothin' but him and the deer. Six-pointer in his sights - a real brute. Enough to feed him and Merle for weeks. He drew his crossbow up, slow and careful as you please, and took the shot.


End file.
